


Cartwheels turn to car wheels, through the town

by TheDameintheRaininMaine



Series: Round and round, in the circle game [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Coming of Age, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Home for Christmas, Oral Sex, varying traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28295055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDameintheRaininMaine/pseuds/TheDameintheRaininMaine
Summary: Months after camp ends, Gendry accepts an invitation to spend Christmas with Arya and the other Starks.It changes things for all of them.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Series: Round and round, in the circle game [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072487
Comments: 13
Kudos: 79





	1. Chapter 1

When Gendry steps off the train, he is immediately hit in the face with a blast of cold air and winces. When he’d left King’s Landing, the sky had been dark and there had been wind, but not even any flurries yet. Winter was in full swing here apparently. 

He thinks maybe that’s why the town is called Winterfell. 

He spots Arya immediately. She’s bundled up, hat, gloves and scarf and her open coat over her striped jumper. It contrasts against the white snow blanketing the ground, and raises his blood warm in response. 

She beams when he sees her and he drops his bag and throws his arms around her. 

“Missed you so much,” he murmurs into her hair. He squeezes her an extra time.

“Are you just saying that to distract me from you trying to steal all my heat?” She says against his chest, with a grin. 

“Only a little.”

He takes one of her hands and she leads him out to the parking lot, to a beat up pickup truck. 

Gendry holds back a little bit as she climbs in the driver’s seat. 

“You did actually finally get your driving license right?”

“Hey, I passed! Just because it took two tries, and Robb still won’t let me drive his car…”

The truck, Arya had explained in her last call before he’d left King’s Landing, was Jon’s. When he’d left for the Air Force, he had entrusted in to Sansa, who now entrusted it to her. 

Arya shuts the door, and takes a minute to turn and look at him. His ears are pink, he’s wearing a coat, but no hat or ear muffs or even a scarf. Southern boy. She leans over, and kisses him, lingering. 

“I’m glad you decided to come.”

She had invited both him and Shireen to come up to Winterfell to spend the week of Christmas with the Starks. Shireen had declined, saying she wanted to keep revising over break. Next term was the last before her O levels. 

Gendry watches the town of Winterfell out the window. It’s smaller than King’s Landing, but picturesque. The snow blankets the roads, and all the houses they pass have lights up. They pass adults shoveling the pavement and kids building snowmen. Gendry’s hardly seen anything of the sort in King’s Landing. 

“Did Jon manage to get any leave?”

Arya frowns. 

“He did, but he won’t be able to get down here until New Years Eve. Ygritte said she’d come down then too.”

Gendry’s disappointed by this. He’d been excited to see Jon again, even if he hadn’t been looking forward to the conversation where he told him he’d been seeing his favorite cousin. 

They continue driving as night begins to fall, until Arya announces that they’ve made it, and puts the truck into park. 

Gendry gazes up at the house. He knew in his head, that with six children under one roof, the Starks must have quite a large house, but he’s still sort of entranced. Two stories, six windows he can see, a chimney, though nothing’s coming from it. Everything’s lit up from the inside, and he swears he can practically feel the warmth. At least before he steps out of the truck and the cold bites at his face again.

He’s distracted by a bark. 

“Nymeria!” Arya squeals, petting the huge malamute mix’s ears while she wags her tail. She tugs Gendry’s hand over. 

“Say hello!”

He’s a bit uncertain, Nymeria’s awfully big, but he pets her head gently, and soon she rolls over on her back and pants at him with her tongue hanging out. 

“That’s good!” Arya insists, “She’s usually wary around people. She must know I like you.”

Nymeria pads up behind them as they approach the door. There’s a wreath on the front as Arya pushes it open. 

“I’m home, I brought Gendry!” she yells inside, as the blast of warmth hits him in the face and removes the numbness from his skin.

The first thing he sees inside is another dog running along the hallway, he can’t make out which one. The first thing he smells is something warm and spicy. 

“Hi Gendry!” He hears Bran yell from the lefthand side. A quick glance shows him at a low table set up in the middle, stretching a power cord from the wall to a slow cooker full of boiling water. 

“You forgot it was your turn to make dinner again didn’t you?”

Bran shrugs. 

“We still have a ton of that chili Robb made on Sunday. I’m just going to make a pot of noodles to mix in.”

“Jokes on him,” Arya whispers under her breath, “I almost forgot yesterday, and had to face a hungry crowd when I got home from work. Thankfully everyone likes bacon and eggs..”

Once they go around the kitchen, the dining room opens up. The table is piled with books and schoolwork, and Sansa is standing, gingerly, in the center and fixing a length of garland to the ceiling fan. 

“Arya!” she says, jumping down. “You have to help me with the menu-”

“Oh no no no,” Arya replied pushing Gendry back, where he nearly trips over another dog. “That’s you and Robb’s territory. I’ll fetch and carry and mix and roll all you want me to, but I will be doing no planning!”

Gendry grins slightly at her fluster. He’d been told, that the day before Christmas Eve, the Starks had always held a small party for the interns and new employees at the company and their families, and he would be here for it. 

“We can hide in the back garden if you prefer,” Arya had assured him, “But I have to at least make an appearance.”

They leave the dining room in a haste, and pass the huge sitting room. Most of it looks like something out of a magazine, a fireplace and a coffee table on one side, and on the other a long couch in front of a wall mounted flat screen TV. In the back, against the wall, stands a Christmas tree as tall as Gendry, decorated with bulbs and lights, next to a sliding glass door leading to the back garden. Rickon sits on one side of a couch, holding a controller, playing some sort of racing game.

“Did Bran abandon you?” Arya calls out. Rickon grunts in response. 

“You can play after you ditch your stuff if you want, I’m terrible at racing games.”

Gendry shakes his head. 

“I’m sort of beat. I think I’ll rest tonight.”

She leads him up a wooden staircase. 

“The guest room used to be downstairs, but we moved Bran down here last year so we wouldn’t have to mess with having a ramp or a lift. This way he has the guest bathroom to himself at night too-” 

At the top of the landing, they bump into Summer, who Gendry thinks is the last dog. He raises an ear, and then goes back to sleep. 

They bump into Robb, who’s hanging up his phone. Gendry remembers Robb as being somehow impossibly perfect as a child, but looking at him now is like looking at a proper adult, put together. 

“Robb please help Sansa out so she’ll leave me be,” Arya pleads, her eyes wide. Robb laughs and ruffles her hair. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” he turns to Gendry, and shakes his hand, “It’s good to see you again.”

Arya’s still chattering as Gendry counts down the bedrooms, for each child. He gets just a glimpse inside of Arya’s, recognizing it from pictures. Recognizes her plaid coverlet and white eyelet curtains, the sloppy laundry basket at the end of her bed and the Northern women’s gymnastics team poster on her wall. 

The decorations in Bran’s former room are generic, blue curtains and a checked blanket and pictures of dogs. Gendry puts down his bag and sits on the end of the bed. 

“Are you okay?” Arya asks. “You look sort of...dazed. Like you were just led on the museum tour of the Red Keep, instead of into someone’s house.”

Gendry puts his hands behind his head and leans back. 

“It’s not the Red Keep,” he insists. “...it’s better.”

Arya leans over and kisses him on the cheek. 

“Come downstairs when you get hungry.”

Gendry sleeps a long time that night, comfortable even in a bed made up for whoever might come along. 

In the morning, he sees the Stark’s house in full chaos, and he still thinks it’s better than the Red Keep. The primary source of chaos in the mornings seems to be the line for the shower. Arya goes past him standing behind Rickon, waiting for Robb to finish and laughs. 

“This is why I shower at night.”

The kitchen is in full chaos mode too when he’s finally managed to bathe and get downstairs. 

“Did Robb leave already?” Bran calls from down the hall, while Gendry eats his cereal. 

“You just missed him,” Sansa calls out, while ushering Rickon out the door to shovel the sidewalk. Shaggydog and Summer run out behind him and he has to turn and shoo them back in, because there’s no gate in the front garden.

“Bran are you going to the Y today?” Arya asks. 

“No, I think I’m going to veg out a bit. School just let out after all.”

“Good,” Arya says. “I have work, and- fuck, it’s my turn to vacuum? Fuck, i’ll do that after taking Nymeria out.”

She turns to Gendry. 

“I have a shift at the gym today. I can bring you if you want, or you can stay here if you’d rather?”

“I’ll come with you. I brought my textbooks so I can do some studying.”

Arya steps out at that point, and Gendry watches her call to Nymeria and leash her up when she comes. 

“How’s life been for you, Gendry?” Sansa asks, sitting down with a cup of coffee. She’s wearing her green apron, so she must be working today too. 

“Pretty much the same. School’s going swimmingly.”

He purses his lips and examines his cereal bowl. 

“I haven’t gotten Arya her Christmas gift yet,” he says. 

Sansa laughs.

“Going for last minute huh?”

“I don’t suppose you have any ideas? Everything I’ve read of ‘gifts for your girlfriend’ don’t seem...like anything she would like at all.”

“Tell me about it,” Sansa says, sitting down and examining her nails, before continuing, “Robb and Jon pooled and got her new ice skates this year. I think Bran got her earrings. I bought her some nice scented candles…”

“Does she like scented candles?” Gendry wonders. 

Sansa smiles. 

“She has a weakness for things that smell pretty, but won’t ever buy them for herself. She stole half my bottle of lemon cake shampoo before I finally started keeping it in my room.”

That’s somewhere to start at least. 

After Arya returns her does his best to help her haul out the industrial sized vacuum cleaner. 

“This pretty much has to be done every day, with five dogs in the house.”

“You told me as a kid that you had a cleaning lady who came once a week didn’t you?”

Arya nods, picking up Rickon’s shoes off the floor. 

“Alys nearly quit on the spot once we got the dogs. She went once Dad passed, and Ylla the cook a year later. Thankfully, Mum never let us be useless. So we rotate. Vacuum, dishes, mop, bathrooms. The downstairs one usually goes to Bran because he’s the perfect height for it.”

Gendry regards the house, and realizes it is quite a large house. Even with five people here, it must take some keeping up to keep clean. It takes Arya long enough to drag the vacuum through the sitting room, both sides, the hallways and then up the stairs and over the landing. 

They leave a little early before her work starts, and take a few moments to neck in the truck before leaving. 

“People might see us,” he says, with his lips sucking a love bite on her neck, and certainly not stopping. 

“That’s okay,” Arya says, slipping her hands under his shirt, “Then they’ll all know why you’re here.”

The gym is fronted in glass and smells of polished wood and gym mat rubber. Arya spends the day at the front desk, checking people in, scanning their cards, answering the phone and occasionally doling out forgotten necessities. 

“What is this stuff?” Gendry asks, looking at a bottle in one of the desk drawers. 

“Butt glue. It’s for sticking your leotard down so it doesn’t ride up in front of three thousand people.”

Gendry cringes and puts it back. 

“Does that happen often?”

“Not with that it doesn’t. If you pick a wedgie in front of the judges, you loose points. So you don’t get one.”

Competitive performing sports, Gendry realizes, are a very strange world. 

When he’s brushing up on the cardiovascular system, Arya asks him. 

“You start ride alongs next term right?”

Gendry takes a deep breath. 

“Yeah. It was all theory and books this term. Next one is when the real stuff starts.”

He doesn’t tell her that he’s straight up terrified. Some of his instructors have stories that could chill you to bone. 

Arya reaches out for his book. 

“I’ll quiz you. I probably won’t know most of this, but I had to get CPR/AED training to work here.”

They go like that for a while, back and forth with the quiz questions, and the sun goes down and a light flurry begins outside the windows. The students leave, everyone from little girls with their hair in bunches holding their mother’s hands to ones who look nearly grown, as grown as gymnasts ever look. 

“You staying for any trampoline time tonight, Arya?” a man with curly hair and a Braavosi accent asks when he comes to the front with a ring of keys. 

“Not tonight, Syrio,” Arya replies, grabbing her purse, “I have an errand to run.”

“Errand?” Gendry asks on their way out the front, shivering and rubbing his hands against the cold. 

“You forgot your gloves again?” Arya chides him with a sideglance, “I just need to stop at the mall to pick up a couple of things I ordered for gifts. Do you mind?”

Gendry has found a silver lining. 

Winterfell Mall is bustling and decorated this time of year. Arya seems to know where she’s going, so he tells her he’ll just wait by the entrance until she’s done. It’s his luck that the entrance they’ve parked by is next to the perfume and cosmetics counters. 

He browses, running a finger along the crystal bottle filled with liquid with names he can’t even try to pronounce. None of it seems right. 

“Looking for something, sir?” A voice asks. It belongs to a smiling clerk behind the counter, who’s nametag says “Wylla” and who has improbably green hair. 

“Looking for a gift,” he says. 

“Girlfriend, sister, mother, other?” she asks. 

“Girlfriend,” he responds, pausing on a black bottle with gold writing. They’ve all so expensive too, “But...she’s not really the eau de parfarm type.”

Wylla nods, and Gendry suspects she might be the same. 

“You should check out the Northern Grace collection,” she tells him, directing his eye to a smaller shelf with slender, brightly colored bottles. “They’re made with essential oils, so they’re less loud than most fragrances, and a bit more natural smelling.”

Gendry runs several of the bottles under his nose. Pausing when he reaches a gray colored bottle. It sweet, but also woody and grounded, with something very lightly floral on top.

“Forest Lass,” Wylla tells him, “A good choice.” Gendry agrees, picturing Arya in the snowscape under the trees behind the house. It works. 

And even though the spray comes with a matching lotion, it’s not even terribly hard on the wallet. Gendry tucks the bag on the inside of his coat pocket, and retakes his spot by the door, hoping Arya won’t notice anything.

Thankfully, when she returns holding her boxes, she doesn’t seem to. 

“Look at this!” she crows, holding up a pink jumper made with some kind of sparkly thread, and a big applique flower by the neckline. “Doesn’t this just scream “Sansa!”?”

Gendry chuckles. 

“Indeed.”

“I got pretty much everyone else t-shirts this year, so all my shopping’s done.”

“I got the Seaworths a yule log,” Gendry admits, “And Shireen a book, so all mine has been done for a while.”

They chat more about it on the way back to the Starks. The front garden is dusted with snow when they get there, and Gendry still pulls his coat more tightly over himself. 

When they enter, the lights in the kitchen and dining room are off. 

“Sansa must still be at work,” Arya comments, flipping the kitchen light back on, “And everyone else must have headed in. The dogs are all outside on their leashes too.”

She glances at the plate left on the stove, containing two grilled cheese sandwiches. 

“Looks like it was Rickon’s turn to cook,” she says, amused, “At least he remembered you were here. Do you want soup?”

He does, and watching Arya open the can of chicken noodle and heat it up, it nearly overwhelms him. 

“I kind of love it here,” he says, off hand. 

Arya sticks her head up. 

“You love canned chicken noodle that much?”

“It’s not that,” Gendry admits, sitting at the little kitchen table in the middle of the counters, “It’s all of it. The lights, the decorations...everyone here working to keep things together and everyone here being happy to see you.”

Arya smiles, and ducks her head. 

“I guess maybe the chaos seems heartwarming to those outside. Don’t you even wonder about the table?”

Gendry glances down at the plastic kitchen table.

“Not really?”

“It’s the old kids table from big family dinners. We had to bring it in here, or Bran could hardly do anything in the kitchen.”

Ah. That makes sense. 

“Hardly anything in this house is handicap accessible, and it drove him mad to not be able to help. Also we don’t use the dining room much because we’re never all here at once.”

She smiles suddenly. 

“Except on holidays.”

She begins spooning the soup into bowls. 

“That’s one of the reasons I’m so glad you came this year. First with Mum…” her voice stutters, “And now with Jon gone, it seems like every Christmas, the house is a little emptier.”

Gendry nods, not wanting to rub recent wounds. He also doesn’t tell her how nice this is, just the two of them sitting in the kitchen, making dinner. 

He doesn’t get time to truly let the fantasy continue, because when they’re just finishing up their sandwiches when Sansa bursts through the ront door, a flurry of snowflakes behind her, and throwing her apron on the nearest chair. 

“Ugh, Christmas customers are the worst.”

“Want the rest of the soup?” Arya asks merrily, and Gendry shoves the last of his sandwich into his mouth, realizing it was probably supposed to be Sansa’s.

Sansa shakes her head. 

“I’ve been snacking on egg bites and burned bagels all night. I’m so glad I have tomorrow off and only work four hours Christmas Eve.”

Gendry shakes his head in response. He knows this is his future too, ambulance workers worked 365 days a year, holidays be damned. He thinks of this as yet another reason to treasure this one. 

Even if it means spending at entire day at Sansa’s beck and call preparing for the party.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time the morning comes, it feels a lot more like doom impending.

“I used to love the Christmas party when I was little,” Arya tells him while they’re cutting and spearing little trays of cubed cheese, “then it got awkward again when I got older and all the adults just felt intimidating. I’m doing the gift swap this year for the kids, so it won’t be too bad.”

She’s interrupted by Sansa calling out for the pigs in a blanket. 

Around noon they manage to slip out, with Arya giving the excuse of having to walk Nymeria. They pass Bran and Rickon in the sitting room, Bran covered with wrapping paper, placing several similarly-sized gifts under the tree, and Rickon dragging the couch to one side and opening up a couple of card tables and extra chairs. 

“Grab Summer’s leash while you’re out it too,” Arya comments, retrieving Nymeria, “Bran can’t walk him as much as he should in winter.”

Thankfully Summer, from what Gendry’s seen, is the most easy going of the dogs, and he perks up immediately at the sound of the word “walk”, and feeling Gendry tug on his leash.

The snow has stopped again, and Arya leads him down a path covered with fresh powder. Their feet leave soft footsteps as they enter the woods. 

Gendry tilts his head back and marvels at the brown-black branches, sometimes heavy with snow, sometimes shining with slush. 

“This looks like something on a Christmas card,” he comments, admiringly. 

“This used to be my favorite place,” Arya admits, “The woods were the best place for adventure. I could ride my bike and pretend I was riding my horse into war. Branches could be swords, and piles of berries could be magic.”

Gendry can see it, little Arya waving her stick and brandishing it at imaginary monsters. 

“And it was the best for hide and seek,” she adds, “Though Jon could always find me no matter how high I climbed. “

They must have been walking for a solid half an hour before Arya even loops back. 

“Do you do this every day?” Gendry asks, breathing hard. He’s cold again too, and is seriously regretting his poor preparation for winter wear.

“Have to. The dogs need exercise, or they go nuts. That’s why we leave them gated in in the back so much, so they can run and wander. It’s going to be hard when I have to leave Nymeria here.”

Arya turns away and runs ahead suddenly. 

“Have you sent in all your applications yet?” Gendry asks, going for casual. 

“Yeah,” she says, voice wandering. “Four, all of them down south.”

That throws Gendry for a loop. 

“I wouldn’t have thought you wanted to leave the north?”

“I don’t,” Arya admits, “But all the best medical courses are in the south...and so are you.”

Gendry is somehow still taken aback, that he would factor into this decision at all. 

“The physiotherapy program at KL Trinity is world renowned,” he agrees. 

“And they have the best Braavosi food on the continent. And so many festivals and museums and activities…but leaving home is going to hurt.”

Even just two days later, Gendry understands.

Finally, with his legs burning only a little, they turn back towards the house and start back. 

They barely even have time to unleash the dogs and lock the gate before they can hear Sansa call from inside the house to help her with the cider. Gendry pets Summer’s snout, and earns himself a lick in return. 

Chaos reigns for the next few hours, until Sansa finally declares everything perfect and shuffles everyone upstairs in order to get ready. 

It takes Gendry five minutes. He puts on the black slacks and button up Arya had suggested he bring. He calls it his job interview garb. He runs a comb through his hair and steps out of the room. Just in time to hear the side of a quarrel between Arya and Sansa. 

“...can’t believe you’re wearing those, really Arya, how old are you?”

“I’m not wearing pantyhose, Sansa. I’ve no desire to spend tonight grabbing at my waist because I feel like a sausage stuffed in casing, especially since I’m going to be sitting on the floor.”

Arya steps out, and Gendry’s breath is briefly taken away. She’s wearing a black velvet dress. It’s not terribly fancy, short sleeves and a v-neck, and comes about to her knees, but it’s nicer than anything he’s seen her in before. 

And he sees the point of contention. Underneath she’s wearing red leggings with a candy cane print, stuffed into her little fur-lined boots.

“Well I think you look cute,” he assures her, kissing her cheek once. 

“Good,” Arya says, “So I won’t have to sic Sansa on you. If she comes at you with cologne, run.”

She tucks her face into the crook of his neck and inhales. 

“Soap,” she says with a soft laugh, “I always wondered what it would be if not sunscreen.”

But then everyone else begins to emerge from their rooms and make their way downstairs. 

If the Starks house looked like something out of a Christmas card before, after Sansa’s work, it now looks like something out of a magazine. The kitchen door is closed so that the front door leads only into the dining room. The traditional candle bridge is laid on the table, one candle lit for each of the seven. Trays of vol-au-vents and hors d’earves sit there, and there’s more than enough chairs around the big table. 

The hallway is blocked off too, and the sitting room has been bedecked as well. The couch has been pushed all the way against the wall, and the tables are laden with drinks, cider and punch alike. 

“No getting too drunk to help clean up,” Arya whispers, “I already thought of that.”

Robb, with his red hair slicked back and his cuff links impeccable, is the one answering the door. The others sit close to the front of the table, to take coats and greet. 

“You ever think of getting into catering or something?” Gendry asks Sansa. She’s in red satin, perfectly made up, and looks as though she is about to go insane. 

“Are you kidding?” she says, gritting her teeth, “I’m about to explode. I can’t take this kind of pressure.”

Gendry’s confused. 

“I thought you wanted to be an actress?”

“Yes, but when you’re on stage, no one’s staring at you, they’re staring at someone you’re playing. How you play the role won’t affect how they think of you as a person. This is practically politics. I don’t know how Mum acted like she loved it for so many years.”

Gendry chuckles. 

The guests begin arriving, well-dressed men and women in their 20’s and 30’s, some with young children in tow. And soon, the house is full up. 

Gendry slinks off to the corner with a cup of cider. He watches Arya flit about the guests. He’s not bitter she left him, she was always like this. Completely comfortable with lots of people, even though he would rather be by himself. He eats quite a lot of cheese and sausages and tiny mince pies to console himself.

He finds a companion though, Bran is also stuffed off in a corner. 

“I hate these things,” Bran tells him, “Mum and Dad used to let us slink off when we got bored, but now we seem to be moral support.”

Gendry watches Bran see Robb moving from person to person, looking exhausted only in between.

“I never thought I’d be like this,” Bran admits, “But sometime stuff makes you come to appreciate watching.”

Gendry nods. 

“I know a secret,” Bran says, “Can I tell you?”

Gendry leans down and Bran whispers into his ear. His eyes go wide. 

“Really? She doesn’t know?”

Bran shakes his head. 

“I only know because I’ve become an expert eavesdropper. People say all kinds of things in front of me now. Rickon said I should become a spy.”

Well, Gendry’s pleased to have a secret. He smiles, and carries it along with him the rest of the night. 

He watches Arya eventually gather all the kids around the tree. She sits at the head of the circle by the tree, with the pile of gifts, wearing a santa hat. She guides the kids through the rules of white elephant and leads when they begin ripping open and trading the gifts. 

He’s always enjoyed watching her with children, she never even acknowledged how good she was with the small ones at camp. 

(He suspects this whole exchange has some element of malice to it. The gifts supplied include things like kazoos and jars of slime).

“The trick,” Arya tells him later, while they’re cleaning up, “Is to get enough variety there will be trading, but nothing so good there will be feelings hurt. This year we just sent Rickon into Poundland with two tenners and told him to go nuts.”

Despite the party having only been a few hours, there is still enough of a mess that everyone’s rushing around to clean. The drinking helps. Robb hands him a cup of something yellow, and rather strong. He sees Robb take a similar cup away from Arya, but she sneaks another behind his back.

That’s the reason he assumes for how he ends up, once the cleaning’s done, with Arya pressed up against the wall beside the Christmas tree. Everyone else has gone up to bed, but anyone could come down and see them. 

“Hmm,” Gendry says into her throat, which his tongue is exploring. His hands too, are exploring the plush fabric of her dress. 

“Should go...bed,” Arya adds, sounding as addled as him. 

His fingers linger at her waist, where her leggings begin. 

“I like the candy canes.”

Arya lets out a very light, likely drink fueled, giggle, and responds with, 

“I want to lick your candy cane.”

Gendry’s brain stutters, but they are interrupted by Nymeria padding into the sitting room to hog the couch, and they take that as a sign to extricate themselves from each other and go to bed.

Christmas Eve comes, and aside from Sansa having to work midday, everyone else seems to refuse to leave the house except the walk the dogs in turn. 

After seeing him being the confident, composed young executive the day before, seeing Robb in his blue coat and jeans walking Grey Wind and Ghost through the back garden is surreal. 

“Robb always seemed grown to me,” Arya admits, while they sit on the back of the couch and watch Bran and Rickon throw mushrooms at each other on the telly screen. “He was always big and strong and responsible. But I think it’s getting to him.”

“He’s not actually running the company is he? He’s only nineteen.”

“Gods no,” Arya replies, shuddering, “But he has more responsibilities than he really should, and he’s still being looked to to try and maintain the traditions that Dad always did. I worry that he’s going to crack one day.”

Sansa returns after noon and brings everyone drinks. Gendry’s never been too fond of the overly sweet seasonal drinks, but apparently he’s in the mood now. Arya goes out to walk Nymeria, and Gendry takes the opportunity to run upstairs and wrap his few gifts and slip them under the tree. 

(Chocolate selection boxes are the best gifts for giving to anyone you don’t really know)

It’s Arya’s turn to make dinner that night, so he watches from the table as she ceremoniously peels the plastic film from the lasagna and sticks it in the oven. 

“Mum would be appalled,” she admits. “We always did takeout lasagna on Christmas Eve. She hated frozen food and would hate that we ate it at all.”

“You said the cook left pretty soon after your dad died?”

Arya nods, downcast again. 

“Mum cooked some, but it became clear pretty quick that we would all have to pitch in. Between her part time work at the company, church, school board...it was a lot. I never wanted to be like my mother and I can admit now I don’t think I ever could.”

She turns away from Gendry again, and he finds himself tongue-tied again. Talking about her dad was sad, but always seemed to make Arya feel better. Talking about her mum on the other hand…

“We all can cook a few things,” Arya continues, “I make pretty good spaghetti, and you had Robb’s chili. Sansa likes to experiment, because she’s always been the overachieving type. Mum would be proud of that at least.”

While it cooks, Gendry steps into the back and calls Davos. 

“Wanted to see how everyone’s doing...did everyone come back for the holiday?”

“Matthos couldn’t get leave, and Dale got stuck with the in-laws, we won’t see him until New Years.’

Gendry sighs. 

“I’m sorry. I know you wanted everyone there.”

“Five out of seven returning isn’t bad. And either way, if you weren’t here it wouldn’t really be everyone.”

Gendry momentarily feels guilty. 

“And don’t get all self-deprecating- yes, I can hear you brooding from here, through the phone.. Have fun this week, and say hello to Arya for us.”

The lasagna is pretty good, even if it is frozen. 

Once the dinner dishes have been cleared (something else, Gendry discovers, they do on a cycle), the topic of discussion turns to church. He suddenly becomes uncomfortable. Despite having been on the receiving end of several charitable programs from the church of the seven, neither him, his mother or any of his foster families had been religious and he had no idea how he should act. 

It turns out not to be an issue. 

“Dad always stayed home when Mum took us to midnight mass,” Arya explains, while getting down mugs for cocoa, “He claimed it was a tradition in the North, from those who followed the old gods, called Watch Night. Grew up and found out that it’s actually supposed to be on New Years...but since he passed, I’ve been doing the same he did.”

Which it turns out to be staying home from church, lighting a fire in the fireplace next to the Christmas tree, and seeing yuletide turn over to the next morning at midnight. 

“It helps that we can’t fit everyone in one car,” Sansa admits when everyone else is putting on their coats. 

“Think you’ll make it until midnight this year, Rickon? I don't think even Robb could carry you up the staircase this year,” Arya teases, sticking her head out the front door. It must be a sore spot because Rickon sticks his tongue out at her on his way to the car. 

And just like that, they’re alone in the house. Gendry carries the mugs of cocoa into the sitting room and sets them on the coffee table while Arya moves the grate in front of the fireplace, rolls the log in, and lights it with a match. 

“Only day a year we ever lit a real fire either,” she says, sitting beside him, “It’s tradition.”

Gendry thinks the Starks house is a little eerie now that it’s empty, and mostly dark. He wonders if this is what Arya thinks, of her home becoming a little emptier every year it seemed. But still, the firelight in the cold is nice. 

They finish their cocoa, and Arya’s hand finds a way onto his lap. When a giggle escapes her, it hits the both of them that they’re totally alone for at least a few hours. Arya twists and crawls onto his lap. She’s warm in his arms and her lips are soft and sweet. 

Gendry’s hands sneak their way under her jumper, and then under the elastic of her sports bra. He strokes a finger over a nipple and she purrs against his cheek. He’s been half hard since they started, but the noise make him spring even more to life and he’s sure she can feel it. Her fingers slip under his shirt, and stroke the skin of his belly. 

And then she stills. 

He tilts his head back to look at her, and she pulls back a bit. 

She swallows once, before asking. 

“Can I suck your dick?”

Gendry blinks, his brain having gone completely foggy. He suspects he must have made some kind of noise, because a blush raises on Arya’s cheeks, and he really should say something…

But she talks first, her hands tugging on the bottom of her jumper self-consciously. 

“It’s just...I haven’t seen you in months and my imagination’s been running wild…”

He blinks again. Part of him can’t believe she asked him that, that she would even want to do that for him, that anyone would have ever wanted to for him…

“If you want to?” he finally manages, with a blush. 

Arya sits up straighter, and looks at him. She clasps her hands in her lap. 

“Proper consent is important,” she says, deadly serious. “If you give your consent, you can take off your pants.”

The irreverent part of him snorts, but a smaller part is grateful. He reaches for the button of his jeans and undoes it. 

“I’m not taking them off,” he says, undoing his fly and pushing his flannel boxers down too. “Pretty sure your family’s hospitality doesn’t extend to my naked arse on their couch.” Trying to hide how exposed he feels, even just like this.

Despite the impending act, Gendry’s enchanted by Arya’s eyes. This isn’t quite the ground behind the equipment shack after dark. They flit from curious, to a bit apprehensive. He places his hand on the back of her head and rubs softly, trying to reassure her. Trying to stem his own nerves. She scoots her knees so she’s kneeling beside him on the couch, and takes him in hand. 

Then her mouth engulfs him, and all rational thought is reduced to worthless fluff. He can tell he’s making some sort of noises, probably ones that are fairly embarrassing. He thinks there are words involved too, fond words, words of encouragement. Probably some ridiculous ones too, because at some point she chuckles and that just makes the pleasure in his groin grow even stronger.

The faster her head bobs, the closer Gendry knows he is to exploding. He tries to say something, but she reaches up and pats his stomach, reassuringly. Then the fire erupts and he cries out, and far too quickly, Arya flips her head up and grins at him. Her cheeks are flushed and she looks so pleased with herself, and he loves her so much. 

It’s not the first time he’s thought that, but its the first time it cuts him. 

“Happy Christmas to me,” he whispers, fingers twining through her hair, and she snorts. He wants to kiss her badly, but he wonders if that’s weird, or wrong somehow, and if she would duck away. 

“Stupid,” she says, reaching down to grab a kleenex to clean him up (when did she grab the box? He has no idea) and tuck him back into his boxers, “I’m going to go brush my teeth and take a shower before anyone gets home.”

And just like that, he’s alone with his thoughts. Soon enough though, she’s back downstairs, with her hair damp, dressed in her long nightshirt and plaid pj bottoms. 

“Do I need to brace myself for anything in the morning?” he asks, imagines of chaotic Christmas mornings from telly playing through his head. 

Arya shakes her head. 

“I’ll make breakfast since Sansa’s doing Christmas dinner.”

He nods. He’d seen her take out the turkey to thaw. 

“And after breakfast, presents. There hasn’t been a mad rush since Rickon was littler.”

Gendry raises an eyebrow. 

“There are other presents?” he asks, with a smirk, and she swats his head before cuddling into his chest. 

They aren’t quite asleep like that when the others get home from church, and Gendry thinks it’s a fine way to ring in yuletide.


	3. Chapter 3

Christmas morning isn’t quite the chaos Gendry expected. He wakes, rather than to noise, to the smell of coffee and bacon. 

This is Arya’s take on Christmas breakfast, which she is frying up still in her pyjamas. The others are sitting around the kitchen table, slumped over from being out so late. Gendry drinks his coffee and watches Rickon try and drag everyone from the table one by one as soon as he’s finished. So much for the lack of a mad dash.

Then, everyone files into the sitting room to sit on the floor around the tree. Gendry swallows and follows Arya’s lead. This is new to him too. The only Christmas gifts he got as a child came from charity, and were never things that were actually picked for him, 

So watching Robb pass things out, one by one, and watching everyone squeeze and shake the packages is a new experience. 

And to his surprise, he finds himself with his own small pile. He must look confused, because Arya laughs. 

“You’re a guest, we wouldn’t send you away empty handed.”

The rules apparently, are everyone opening one at a time. Thankfully, with no time for awkwardly showing off. Gendry feels a smile creep up on him when he finds himself unwrapping wool socks, gloves, and a nice thick scarf and hat. 

“You can’t just be coming up here unprepared, southern boy,” Arya explains, tearing paper off one of her own gifts, “So we got you all prepared.”

The placement meant that his gift came last, which means Arya already has her ice skates, earrings and candles when she reaches his. 

She gleefully tears the paper off, and rolls her eyes softly when she reads the name. She twists open the bottle and spritzes a little bit on her wrist.

She sniffs it and her whole facade transforms. Her face crumples, and she tosses it on the ground, stands and leaves without a word. 

Gendry’s frozen solid to his spot. To be fair, the other Starks seem just as bewildered as him. 

“Holy shit, Gendry,” is all Robb can says, “What was that?”

But before he can do anything, Sansa crawls across the floor and picks up the bottle. She repeats Arya’s actions, down to her face transforming once she sniffs it. 

“Holy shit,” she says, reaching her wrist out for Bran to smell. “Gendry...I think this is what our Mum used to wear.”

Gendry feels like the floor’s been pulled out from under him. 

His own mum had died when he was so young, that sometimes he felt like memories of her were voids. But sometimes, things would hit him. The color of a random woman’s hair, a note in a song she used to sing. And on one memorable occasion, a scent on a social worker when he was being moved homes. He had smelled, what she had told him when he finally asked was ordinary cold cream, and all he could remember was his Mum hugging him goodbye on his way to the school bus. 

He holds his head in his hands. Sansa picks up the bottle and package from the floor, and lays a hand on his shoulder. 

“Give her time,” she says. “Come on and help me in the kitchen, it’ll get your mind off of it.”

He mucks in with her for a bit, peeling potatoes and chopping parsnips. The package sits on the table, mocking him. The others leave, Bran say they are planning to go down to the pond for a bit.

“Planning on dodging work is what you are doing,” Sansa says. Bran winks at Gendry once. 

Time creeps by, with still no sign of Arya. Finally, after maybe an hour, Gendry puts down the potato peeler. 

“I’m going to go talk to her.”

Sansa merely nods. 

Nymeria’s sitting on the hallway floor by Arya’s door, as if guarding it. She raises her head when Gendry approaches, but makes no move to stop him. 

He knocks once, before realizing the door is open. He sticks his head in. Arya’s laying on her bed, still in her pyjamas, hugging a pillow. 

“Can I come in?”

Arya’s silent for a moment. 

“I’m not angry at you,” she assures him, but doesn’t move. “It’s just...it all hit me at once.”

Slowly, as if thinking he would spook her, Gendry steps into the room. Still with careful movements, he lays down behind her on the bed. 

“I can get rid of it if you hate it,” he tells her, laying one hand on her shoulder. 

“I don’t,” she assures him, “I like it actually. But it was just...I smelled it and realized I was never going to smell it on her again. She’s never going to be in the kitchen making Christmas dinner. She's never going to buy me something pink and frilly in hopes that maybe this time I'll wear it and love it. With Dad, everything around me and everything I did reminded me of him, I had to get used to them. With Mum...it’s been sporadic. Maybe because I wasn’t so close to her. Either way, it hits me like a truck.”

Gendry scoots so his front is pressed flush to her back, and wraps his arm around her. He figures the best thing he could do is let her talk. So he listens, until she’s quiet again.

“The others said they were going down to the pond for a while,” he says eventually, “Do you want to go after them?”

“No,” she says after a moment, “I just want to stay here like this for a bit. Maybe go help Sansa...later though.”

He presses himself a little closer, and kisses the back of her neck. She rolls on her back and stretches, content like a cat. 

“Distract me a bit?” she asks. 

Gendry kisses her throat, then her lips, then her collarbone. He can handle that.

He pushes up the bottom of her nightshirt, exposing her belly. He kisses up the center, tasting her skin. It smells softly of the generic green apple soap in the shower. Gendry imagines his must smell the same. It’s all Arya. He pushes the shirt up far enough to free her breasts, and he kisses each of them in turn.

His lips move south again. He blows a breath to tickle her navel. He lingers there, just above where her PJ pants are tied.

He meets her eyes, and she nods, with a crinkled grin. Non-verbal consent counts too, Gendry remembers. He still unties the knot slowly and carefully. He’d be lying to say his imagination hadn’t wandered here on occasion.

He stares a moment before pulling down her knickers (little gray shorts with snowflakes on them). He wants to commit this to memory. 

All five of his senses get overwhelmed. The sight of shiny pink, smell of sharp arousal. The taste, so unlike anything else. The touch, smooth skin, coarse hair, slick flesh. Gendry thinks the sounds are his favorite, the clumsy, slurping movements of his tongue, and the little sounds Arya is making. Gasps and whimpers, her fingers wrapping into his hair, as she shakes and quivers under his movements.

(She’s actually quite quiet when she comes. He hadn’t expected that. He memorizes the feeling of her pulling on his hair and her thighs tensing around his head when the noises grow longer and higher and then relax.)

Afterwards, Arya fumbles pulling her pants back up, and it makes him smirk and that makes her slap the back of his head, and it’s like nothing has changed at all. She cuddles into his chest, and leans up to kiss him. 

“Oh, sorry,” she says after a moment, suddenly embarrassed, “is that weird?”

Gendry shakes his head, and kisses her again, nuzzles her nose, throws his arms around her. 

After several long moments of peace, Gendry opens his mouth again.

“I’m terrified of the coming term,” he admits into the top of her head. “I’m sure I’m not good enough or smart enough, that I’ll crack under pressure. I’m certain I'm going to fuck up and maybe really hurt someone.”

“You won’t,” Arya tries to assure him, “And if you get scared or lost...just call me when you can. I can’t say for sure I can help, but I can always listen.”

He’s not sure if that will really help in the long run, but he’s glad for the sentiment.

Soon, the smell of roasted turkey begins to drift upstairs from the kitchen. 

“We should go help Sansa,” Arya says firmly, Then she kisses him again. 

They do eventually get up and go downstairs, Nymeria following them. 

Gendry’s setting the plates and Arya’s got the big knife ready to carve the turkey when Gendry’s ears perk up at the sound of a car approaching. 

Sansa furrows her brow. 

“Who could that be?”

Gendry feels the need to wink at her, but she wouldn’t get it. 

Arya sticks her head out the front door just in time to see Ygritte’s Ute pull up. Her eyes go wide. Sansa sticks her head out, and her eyes go wide too. 

Gendry gets only a glimpse of Jon, dressed in civvies, but still carrying his WAF bag over one shoulder, as Arya and Sansa rush to him. He begins to set the table, while Ygritte steps inside and takes off her boots.

“He traded with something like six different people to get his leave this week instead of next. It wasn’t until two days ago that we were certain we’d be able to make it here,” Ygritte tells him, while they watch Arya and Sansa greet him outside. Arya jumps to hug him so hard that her feet leave the ground. 

“And you only told Bran?” Gendry asks. Ygritte nods. 

“Bran’s a good secret-keeper. Jon wanted it to be as much as a surprise as it could be.”

“Everyone else is at the pond,” Gendry continues, still gazing at the heartwarming reunion out front. 

“Well, guess they’ll be late on the uptake.”

Eventually, the three of them come in. 

Sansa pulls on her boots. 

“I’ll go bring everyone else back,” she says, and with a glance at Arya, “I won’t tell them.”

While Sansa is gone, the four of them finish up setting the table. Gendry catches Jon gazing at him, and feels the need to look away.

“I listened to Arya’s stories,” he says, “But part of me is still surprised to see you here.” 

“I could say the same to you,” Gendry says, shuffling his feet, and willing his brain not to flash to just the scant hours earlier, “Arya’s shown me pictures, and told me stories, but part of me still expects you to be fourteen and in a yellow camp shirt.”

And despite only being a few months older than Gendry, Jon looks to him like he’s slipped right in to military life; a regulation haircut, clean shaven. 

Gendry had never given the military any real thought, it was something that was still much more common in the north than the south, often seen as an escape from a dying town or region. But looking at Jon, his mind flashes back to the instructors and classmates who laughed when he got pushed into the auto and metal shop tracks in school, certain he would spend his life covered in grease or cutting sheet metal. 

Maybe that’s the real reason he’s been so frightened of his paramedic courses. 

Soon, they have taken their seats around the big table in the dining room, when Sansa leads the others back. There’s another round of hugs and exclamations, and Arya takes Gendry’s hand under the table, and holds it tightly. 

Dinner begins, and Gendry has never felt so pleasantly stuffed. Turkey, roast potatoes, roast parsnips. Cranberry and bread sauce. No brussel sprouts, thank goodness. He pulls crackers with Arya and Rickon and even agrees to wear the ridiculous hat. Then Sansa brings in the Christmas pudding and lights it, to great effect. 

When it’s all passed around, Gendry feels pleasantly sleepy. Arya does the dishes while Bran, Robb and Rickon make to nap on the couch. 

“Quitters,” she regards the others. “We’re going down to the pond when I’m done here, I have to try out my new skates. Your coming too Gendry, so no dozing off.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Gendry admits, “You might have to roll me down the path. Also, I don’t have skates.”

“What size do you wear?” Jon asks. When Gendry tells him, he says, “Use mine, they’re close enough. I’ll skip out. I’m going to go out and reunite with Ghost.”

“I’ll go with you,” Ygritte interjects, “Sansa, can I use your skates?”

Sansa calls out her agreement and Ygritte goes to retrieve them, and Arya gets a look on her face that tells Gendry that there’s a story there.

“Figure skating is not unlike gymnastics in ways,” Arya tells him, “and Sansa could have gotten in as deep as I nearly did.”

Going out the backdoor, the back garden is blanketed in snow. Nymeria perks and with Arya’s acknowledgement, Ygritte grabs her leash to take her with them. Arya calls out to Jon, who’s too distracted by a yipping, bouncing Ghost to pay them any attention, and they continue on. 

The pond is picturesque as it could be, and Arya shows him how to strap on his skates and push off. He falls, several times, and each time, she pulls him to his feet again. 

At one point, when Arya convinces him to lift her up for a turn, he presses his face into her neck and is greeted with the scent of sweet wood and lavender. 

Tomorrow, he’ll take the train home. But right now, Gendry feels like he understands how Arya always spoke of coming home to Winterfell.


End file.
